


Something Dead That Seems To Be Alive

by naiadies



Series: Siken Made Me Do It [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rich-centric, mentions of the fire, oh wow the 'shit' word, rated for language, sort of, what a sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 08:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11227383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naiadies/pseuds/naiadies
Summary: Rich is depressed and fresh out of the hospital after nearly a month, feeling guilty and stiff, he doesn't know if the people he cares for will care for him anymore.





	Something Dead That Seems To Be Alive

Rich wasn’t always _Rich._

 

After the fire…

 

After the _SQUIP_ …

 

...he was traumatized. Admitted into the hospital for severe burns and smoke inhalation, he stayed for nearly a month and left with prescription pain relievers and appointments for physical therapy.

 He had walked home.

 They had given him a sweatshirt and sweatpants to go home in and offered to call a bus. Rich refused, saying he wasn’t that far from home. Truth was, he didn’t want to call his alcoholic dad or anyone whose life he had ruined, which was most everyone. So, Rich Goranski walked home in his month-old shoes that smelled heavily of smoke.

 Once he got home, he noted that his dad was passed out on the couch surrounded by beer bottles. Heaving a sigh, he picked up the bottles and sets them on the kitchen counter near the sink, turning the television off as he walked to his room.

 Rich stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in his room that  felt foreign and uncomfortable. Taking a deep breath in, he opens his drawers, feels around for the softest things he owns - an old t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants that an ex got him for a gag gift - completely changes his clothes and then goes straight to bed.

\---

He wakes up choking.

 

It feels like there's smoke everywhere, suffocating his, pushing on his chest, and he realizes that he’s having a panic attack.

 He opens up the bag from the hospital, three white prescription bags sitting unopened and untouched, frantically ripping open _‘Richard Goranski - albuterol’_ , and taking two deep puffs from the inhaler.

  _'_ _That’s not what it’s for. You can’t take it for panic attacks, only for the asthma,’_ he reasons with himself.

 

After getting his breathing under control, he tries to turn on his phone, but, of course, it’s been dead for nearly a month, so he plugs it in and walks downstairs. _‘It’s only 3am, Jesus Christ.’_

 Rich goes through his cabinets, trying to find something comforting. All he finds is an old package of Chamolmile tea that’s nearly unreadable, and old chocolate, probably from last Christmas.

 

He boils some water in a pot.

There’s only the shitty fake sugar you’d get from a gas station, in the gaudy pink packets, but it’s just enough to make the tea not bitter, but not as sweet as he’d like it to be.

 After pouring it in a mug, Rich makes his way back to his room, being quiet as he notices his dad has goen to his own room. When Rich gets back into bed, his phone is on and blowing up with texts from over a month.

 

_‘Jenna, Brooke, Chloe, Christine, Jake...and two unknown’s.’_

 

Turns out, the two unknowns were Jeremy and Michael. Two _more_ people he’s ruined the lives of.

 Rich sighs and opens Jake’s contact.

 

**rich:** hey

**rich:** thought you should know that im out of the hospital

 

**jake:** are you doing okay??

 

**rich:** yeah man, just fine

**rich:** but im sort of different since the last time you saw me.

**rich:** lisp is back

**rich:** mental health issues are back

**rich:** scars are new tho

 

**jake:** hey, youll be okay, i promise.

 

**rich:** yeah

**rich:** anyway, im kinda tired, so ill talk to you later or something

 

**jake:** yeah, okay

**jake:** get some sleep buddy

\---

Rich wakes up with his empty mug overturned on his lap, a crick in his neck, and his dad yelling at him from the living room.

 “Ricky! Get your ass down here! You got some visitors or somethin’!” His father’s voice is gruff and unhappy, meaning he was probably woken up by these ‘visitors’.

 “Yeah, okay,” Rich calls as he walks down the stairs, rubbing sleep from his eyes and fixing his shirt.

 

There, standing in the doorway, is Jake, Jeremy, and Michael.

 “Hey man, how you feelin’?” Jake asks. Rich stands there, surprised that they would even be here after what he’s done to them.

 “I’m, yeah, I’m good. Why-why are you guys here?” he stutters back, wincing when his ‘s’ sounds like a 'th'.  

“We thought you might wanna get outta here,” Michael said.

 “Yeah, like, _get out_ of here, you know what I mean?” Jake asked, glancing pretty obviously towards his dad. Rich nodded.

 “Wait for me, I gotta change.” Rich rushed up the stairs and dug through his drawers again. He found a faded red tank top and some jeans, pulling on and zipping up a jacket on his way out. When he got to the door, he pulled on his shoes from freshman year. They were ratty converse that had the bottoms spray-painted red. “Hey, dad, I’m goin’ out!” Rich heard a slurred, “Yeah, whatever” as he practically ran out of the house.

The other three boys were jammed in Michael’s PT Cruiser. _‘That’s so dorky.’_ __Rich chuckled

 As he climbs into the car, there’s an argument going on.

 

“-no dude, we’re totally going to Denny’s! The Big Boy is legitimenatlly the Stoner Place, and I don’t want that right now?”

 

“Fine! Hey Rich?” Michael looks at him through the rear-view mirror.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“We’re going to Denny’s, you cool?” Rich nods.

 

 

 

It’ll take a little time, and healing, but he guesses it could be worse. He could be a ghost.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the richard siken bot on twitter because poetry is my insp for anything good  
> the full post says  
> "We all move forward anyway. Ripples in all directions.  
> What is a ghost? Something dead the seems to be alive."  
> anyway leave any comment, it really helps to know that people are reading :)
> 
> constructive criticism is always welcome!


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